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OWNER OF ALL INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY (COPYWRITED MATERIAL)
Some love affairs of the heart, soul, spirit, and even potential carnal darkness… can never be helped! No matter how they might appear to be tawdry and forbidden. Lust and slaking needs are too powerful to resist. The question is can they survive or last the scrutiny of polite societies?????
LADIES I SUGGEST YOU CLUTCH ALL OF YOUR PRECIOUS PEARLS… ESPECIALLY AROUND THIS ONE!
ABRIDGED BLURB & EXCERPT
Talk about… “An Officer and A Gentlemen… meets “Wild Orchid”!
I NEED YOU
Once securely inside his condo; Paché backed me against the entry door, slowly. The heat radiating from his body commanded my goosebumps to begin marching
up and down my backside, at one hundred-eighty-steps all around.
Also, that smoldering heat was an indication of possible high fever. Even the room felt as if it were burning with this smoldering heat. Then again… that may have been me. God help me because, at that point, I damn sure could not help myself.
Elle’s words resonated across our table with utter shock and awe. Plus, a bit of remorse. Top Soldier knew she should have picked up the phone to call the post Inspector General but didn’t. This meant she and Paché, at that point, were prime candidates for Pentagon and Congressional level inquiries. Their arguments for not calling post level protocol experts had a maximum range of fucking⸻Zero! Why it didn’t stop Elle, is anybody’s guess.
The Light Colonel felt my body quake and shiver.
Instead of affording me the opportunity to chill off a bit; he imprisoned me deeper and further, into his personal space. I, literally, could not breathe. My chest never stopped pounding, as my breasts felt their own erasers hardened and protrude.
At the same time Mother Nature decided to debut herself, in the shadows of the common areas. My nectar of the gods began to slowly secrete from the walls of my canal, as if someone pulled the dike out of the dam. Giving new meaning to the term, drip, drip, drip. You know what I mean battle sister number one. Of course, Elle chuckled at the thought.
There was no turning back from this. I made up my mind right then and there to follow every fucking command Paché; gave me. Just like that…the Light Colonel was the dominant, and I his submissive. Though I hate to admit now, in as sense, I was turned on to no end.
Suddenly, Paché arched his brow as he gazed deeper into my LOS. I could see his blood vessels, literally, expanding before my very eyes. He cupped my chin as his hand trembled, slightly. Those savagely muscular appendages slid slowly down to the tips of my erect eraser of a nipple, and he pinched it ever so tightly. I orgasmed so hard, that the back of my head thumped against the door. What the fuck did he do that for?
Well, I was about to find out.
“Listen, I could not help it baby. I need you awake. I know I can be quite insolent. I do not apologize for this gesture one bit. The situation causes for such a misdeed. Though, you know, it gives me pleasure, as well.”
Paché assisted me in pulling myself together. Not once allowing a retort of any kind from my lips to his ear. My pride was bating me to stop this foolishness, but it was wicked and engaging. I wanted more of this naughtiness.
However, for the moment it was not to come. Paché’s body began to, quake and quiver, as his eyes batted and fluttered wildly. Immediately, I secured him inside the clutches of my arms in an effort to steady him. Through murmured lips he spoke softly, but his words were frantic and deliberate.
“We must quickly move ‘baby! I have digested about two hundred milligrams of painkillers, and along with a mild oral anesthetic. You must get to work, Hun… he purred into my ear sternly.
Oh, dear God!
“Get me over there to the ops table here in the dining room, “baby. I am afraid, this will be your operating table going forward. When you are done operating on my backside, where the boils, cysts and other bio infections are use the sheets underneath to pull me onto the gurney, hidden in my walk-in closet.
I hope your skillsets are still razor sharp and spot on.” He whispered softly, his breaths growing shorter and shorter.
His body became heavier in my arms as it crunched itself
over, into a ball of human biological hazardous waste. It was not a time for me to panic. I shook the living shit out of that crazy ass precocious officer, sick or not.
“Please my love, you know I wasted as little precious time, as possible, inserting that I.V. into my arm and body. It is filled with all you will need, to complete this mission.” His knees slightly buckled.
I immediately secured him onto the table. I had no choice, but to follow his commands. Truth be known, a part of me was turned the fuck on, and more and more intrigued by the second. I needed to be needed, for a change. Too hard to resist, any further or future pleas from that sexy ass fucking scoundrel of an officer.
“Instinctively, I went to work. That boy’s body was fucking heavy, as hell. But the sight of his flesh and muscles made my tasks all the easier, but no less grave. Once I rolled him flat on his stomach my jaw dropped, stunned by what I was privy to witness on his backside. My poise immediately grew stoic and vigilant. I recognized this disease. No wonder for all this crazy secrecy, and cloak and dagger shit
Girl, Paché was suffering from Gulf War Syndrome.
Those boils and cysts are part of the symptoms. No telling how long this officer had suffered in silence.
I no longer touched his body. I had a much better understanding now of my tasks. Plus, his backside was riddled with pus and blood seeping through the pores around each boil and cysts. This was an indicator of possibly both a staff and MRSA infection. His body was toxic, and a fucking walking bio- hazard. He knew damn well that his ass should have reported to either Warner Robbins or Fort Gordon. But he didn’t out of fear of dismissal from his military duty.
This was now a secret I had to keep as tight to my vest, as possible. One of those types of military secrets you insert into your hoo-hah…for life. Elle chuckled.
What the fuck?
True to form, the pragmatic and detail-oriented officer left nothing to chance, nor any stones unturned. Next to what was to be my operating table, on the bar and stools, were my scrubs, face shield/mask, gloves, three small pills, valium, neomycin, and Darvocet-N, and two shots of Padron. Only a combat officer would get the meaning behind the Tequila shots. Top Soldier scoffed.
Wasted no time downing those three babies. My ass hurried up and downed every ounce of those double shots! At this point, timing was of the essence.
God help me because we were now, truly, in the hands of whatever Gods we served. And I began praying silently, like hell! With a few hail Mary’s to boot.”
Focused and intent, I reached onto the roller tray filled with every type of surgical instrument a surgeon would need. Nothing was left to chance, here. I picked up the
instruments I would need to clean and disinfect the areas I needed to cut open, first. Only to have to lay them back down. The pressure underneath his skin (where the boils and cysts were), began to seep and run everywhere. Blood and pus raced down Paché’s torso, settling into a pool of icky shit in the dip of his back. Just above his gorgeously muscular gluteus maximus. We were in fucking trouble.
Before I realized it, I reached over and grabbed two sheets of liners and pads. It was instinct, from those days back in the theatre, Bum Fuck Egypt. As I laid the pads on his seeping wounds, the pus and blood seared its way from one end of the pad to the other. It was clear. Paché’s body was infected further below his flesh than, either of us could have ever anticipated. This meant I needed to cut far deeper, and quickly into his backside. At that point, timing and precision was
That said, I went straight to work. As any good nurse and surgeon, I opened up that damn I.V., and gave him more saline and morphine. I took the vile and needle of antibiotic he left for me and injected it into his I.V., Hell, at that point he needed it more than I did. I was not thinking about saving myself. I only wanted to save this officer and soldier who placed his life, literally, into my hands. Leaping into action, straight away, was a no brainer! Vile of antibiotic or not.
After I injected him and re-sanitized his backside I went straight to work.
Ohhhh, my fucking God!
That first puncture with my scalpel release much of the pressure behind the first boil. Blood, pus, and part of his flesh went flying through the air, every damn place. It hit my face shield, leaving two long bloody and pus ridden streaks. The stench was like a fucking dead body, almost. This mutherfucker needed a goddamn autopsy!
There was no other option for me, surgically, but to pause a moment to change into the second face shield. Paché set up four of them side by side. No doubt he understood and planned for every conceivable scenario. It was a good thing too, because we were in a fight, against time, and him awakening out that induced coma we put him in, me and Paché.
Putting my second shield on securely, I wasted no time cutting on his body, again. Only this time I was prepared to do battle with those boils and cysts. Because they were huge and attached to his body. But know this, my hands were sturdy as a steel rod, or rather the massive hard-on of Paché’s. Timing was all fucked up, in reference to the revelation of that shit. Damn!
I made sure my cut went deep into the center of the boil to relieve the pressure. His body slightly jerked and trembled. I pause merely for three to four seconds, only. Of course, bending again to my work and tasks. Attempting to assess what the bloody hell was inside this young man’s body cavity.
That bitch of a cyst was fucking tight and oozing yellow,
green, and red waste, like hell. I gauzed as much pus and blood, as I could before cutting any further. Shit, I needed to see what the fuck I was doing before proceeding further.
Next, I purposely pressed as hard as I could since he couldn’t feel it. Needless to say, the infection hit the ceiling, as its remainder splattered onto his lower body. Thank goodness he was wearing protective gear, under his long johns.
I operated for nearly three and a half hours on that poor officers back. My body was drenched with perspiration, blood, flesh, and funky ass pus. I knew, instinctively, he had MRSA, as well. One of the most dangerous and unpredictable infections fought by the docs in internal medicine, back east.
Again, Paché was in one of the most dangerous medical quagmires of his life, as a soldier. Too many of our brethren didn’t survive that shit, as you and I well know. The situation had taken on a life of its own.
I had to hope and pray the antibiotics would help with that. At best, all I could do is treat his wounds, and sew him the fuck up, about eleven sutures each, then wait. The most critical time during this entire procedural process. Just when I thought I could finally rest on my medical and nursing laurels…murphy’s law decided to debut himself. Fucking Damnation!
Suddenly out of nowhere, Paché’s blood pressure shot up, and began to take off like a damn Patriot missile, with the same precision. The bells and whistles scared the living shit out of me. I knew it was the antibiotic because he was slightly diabetic.
“Holy shit! What do I do now?” Panic was not an option, nor part of the plans.
Then it hit me.
Give him a bit more painkiller, so he does not come out of his anesthesia in shock or panic.
Next, I raced to the fridge poured a half of cup of apple cider vinegar into a paper cup and warmed it slightly. Grabbing a straw off the bar I took the warm mixture over to that damn officer and poured it down his throat. I had no choice, even if it
meant he may choke a bit. But I was not thinking straight. My mind was focused on saving his scandalously sexy and officer ass. Plus, that mutherfucker was gonna live to explain all this shit too me.
Come hell or high water!
He gurgled, of course, as most of the vinegar ran out the right side of his mouth. But I managed to get a good bit down his throat. After that, I raced over to the fireplace to grab that resuscitation table, sitting there on standby. That shit was heavy as hell. My adrenalin was through the roof! I manage to pull it over next to him, and that is when I noticed the two fucking vials and needles. The note next to it said “give one shot, at a time every thirty minutes, to bring down blood pressure.
Wasted no time getting that shit into the officer’s veins.
Sure enough, after about twenty-minutes, his blood pressure slowly began to steady itself. All the indicators and monitors were in good ranges. He was still critical but stabilizing. My heartbeat, however, was still racing at about one hundred miles per second.
Once I felt confident that Paché’s vitals were stable I raced into the bathroom, took off all that fucking funky ass garb, and stuffed it into three huge bio containment bags.
Where that son-of-a-gun got all this shit from would be a let’s have a come-to-Jesus’ type of conversation. Because all of that shit was total state of the art medical equipment and meds. No way, Paché would not be challenged by me for answers!
Plus, if I am gonna end up at Langley, the Pentagon, or wherever, give me what I need to defend my actions. After all, it is your life I was attempting to save. I kept whispering to myself. Of course, for moral purposes only. No way on this earth I would hesitate to do that! Save his life that is.
I jumped into the shower and scrubbed my body like never before. My primary concerns were not the pus, but his blood with that MRSA. That shit is SARS amped up, when its activated. And there is no cure, just a treatment.
More than likely, I scrubbed off three to four layers of
my own flesh, out of both nervousness and fear. My flesh was damn near burgundy looking, from where I scrubbed myself with a Brillo pad. I have seen soldiers medically evacuated to Germany and Turkey, because we could not treat the MRSA ravaging their blood streams.
That said, this officer was in far more danger than his mind could possibly, fathom. Luckily, I knew how to treat that shit, as did Paché. There were multiple bags of Vancomycin Clindamycin, Cleocin, Bactrim, and Fentanyl, if needed. Again, he left nothing to chance. Well…almost nothing.
Once dressed, I pulled that gurney from the closet; rolled Paché onto it, as I slowly rolled him back into the bedroom.
This, by far, was some straight up MASH-unit-shit!
Thank goodness that boy’s body was stabilizing, because scared and disillusioned, just does not quite say it. You know my angst, at that point had pretty much crossed the Rubicon.
However, everything went off like clockwork, rather I was afraid or not. Paché’s face and body looked so much like Julius Caesar’s, or Greek God as he lay there in the last remnants of his induced coma. To me, it almost felt sinful to touch his body. My heart raced as I slowly scanned every inch of his body, with my eyes. Who was better deserving of such a visual, than myself? Hell, I did all the work.
I didn’t want to waste that opportunity, not for all the tea in China. I needed some type of extra incentives. Shit, I did all the fucking hard work, and worrying. Still, that boy looked quite the sight. As he rested there like a newborn baby, in peace and harmony. When, in actuality, nothing could have been further from the truth.
His muscles began to twitch and quake, softly. It was an indicator to me that he was slowly, but surely, coming out of the anesthetic coma we put him in. As far as, I could see there would be no complications. Just a fucking brazen and sexy ass officer coming back to life, so to speak.
I pulled his leather-bound recliner from the corner, next to his bed. There I sat just waiting for him to fully recover. For
whatever reasons, my fingers and heart began to quake like crazy? Thank goodness the worst was behind us.
That said, I pulled his field jacket off the doorknob; wrapped it around my shivering bodice, because the room temperature was kept at operating room levels. I was so exhausted, yet something would not allow me to fall fast asleep. I was determined to lay there forever, if needed. Just could not figure out why I could not rest easy, or rather, fall asleep faster. Finally, a thought hit me all at once. And it was all too sobering. I had the answer, but just did not want to acknowledge it.
Reality was setting in, at this point. Did this shit just happen? More importantly, would that fucking officer wake the fuck up out this shit? So many thoughts and questions raced across my brain, yet I carried on, like any good soldier, or rather, submissive.
Elle looked me dead center my eyes, with that look of a wild beast. The realness of her experience went all over me. I grabbed her arms, at the elbows. Shaking my head in disbelief I needed to hold on to something…anything. Because I was just privy to some straight Pentagon Level, Langley (NSA), and Congressional level inquiry bullshit!
Did not know quite how to respond, nor react? Closing my mouth from where it was hanging nearly aghast, I spoke sternly and quietly.
“Girl…what kinda fucked up shit have you just revealed to me?” My voiced trembled with both elation and fear. Elle looked on with her little vixen crooked smile. This shit was no longer fun and games to me. I wanted answers to what I deemed a torrid affair…not possible Congressional Inquiry bullshit. Oh, good Lord!
For a nano second, I, literally, regretted ever having pushed my battle buddy this hard for a confession. I, seriously, looked like a deer caught in the fucking headlights…no joke! Talk about regret? Well…not quite.
After taking in a few short breaths, and exhaling Elle spoke softly. “See, not all relationships are cheap and tawdry, Hun. Our connection became tight and deep, no pun intended,
right off the back.” There they were again, her teary eyes. Yet not one tear dared itself to cascade down her face. Instead, they hung at the rims of her eyes and eyelids, until they all dried up completely. Eventually, evaporating in the evening breeze.
I, immediately, pulled myself together, for my battle buddy. Shit, we needed a distraction, of some sort. Of course, more libations and roughage would be the answer. Swinging, my little black napkin wildly into the air, I signaled for our waitress. She flew over to our table, literally on wings.
“How may I help you two sheroes, hon?” she asked with a smile as wide as lake Lanier?
“Girlfriend…bring us a plate of twenty wings, ten flats and ten drums double dropped, and two tossed salads. One Caesar and one house, please. Both with extra dressing.
Also, we will have another round of Martinis, Goosed- up please.” For certain the food and drinks would hit the spot. Because I had a feeling that this tale of tales was nowhere near its conclusion. Boy⸻was I right!
With Folded hands and the look of a wild animal held in captivity, Elle re-engaged us into the depths of her story. This was like an epoch film unfolding, right in front of my very eyes.
Boy, oh Boy!
DINNER FOR TWO
I fell asleep, finally: which seemed like a trance, almost. Elle recanted softly, as she glared me face to face.
But I was quite tired and exhausted both physically and
emotionally, after the events earlier in the morning. My slumber and bliss did not last long, at all. I awoke to three to four masculine fingers poking me, in the side of my ribs.
Startled, I sat straight up.
🔥🌹🇺🇸Nothing Like An Officer & GENTLEMEN Who Can Kiss Away Your Pain!
WHAT THE DAMNATION…. I LIKE TO SAY???!!!
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Hailing from the great southern state of Georgia, J.Z. Luciano is a multi-genre author/writer. A Business Law and Economics undergraduate alumna of Mississippi Valley State University, Troy State University, and Auburn University at Montgomery, she also is proud to be an honorable veteran of the United States Army. In addition, Ms. Luciano is an Operation Just Cause and Persian Gulf veteran. Her eyes have seen and experience a great deal of the world, to say the least. The author and veteran performed most of her military duty as a communications instructor, and ceremonial detail for fallen soldiers. Hers’ was a learners & extraordinary career. Becoming a “ROMANTIC SUSPENSE FICTION NOIR”…was her destiny!
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